Meet the Engineer
by Harold3456
Summary: Fifty years have passed, and the only time the mercenaries have for each other is spent over a gravestone. Freewrite exercise, written in an hour, sorry for lack of editing but I figured the story would have more impact this way.


Texas, 2011

The rain pattered down atop Dell's head as he watched the coffin lower into its grave. The body of Jane Doe, the Soldier, disappeared into its final resting place. Dell never got the man's real name. The grave was unmarked.

Dell looked up, dry-eyed, at the two men on the far side of the hole. Tavish Degroot, who must have been around ninety years old, was sitting in a wheelchair. He wore dark glasses that concealed two empty eye sockets. The same fatal demolitions accident that had blown off his right hand had also taken both of his eyes, as well as most of his hearing. Now Tavish just sat there, wearing a red, woollen vest over a button-up, polyester suit, his grey, unkempt beard matted down on his chest. Behind him stood his forty year old son, who held an umbrella over his father's head. Where had the years gone?

Beside Tavish stood Paul. The relatively young sixty-year old wore an old newspaper boy's hat atop his head. He was hardly recognizable in a black suit. Dell was surprised to see that he had gained quite a bit of weight in the six years since they had attended Damien Mundy's funeral in Melbourne. Of course, Dell couldn't pass judgement. He had also gained a lot of weight, so much that he could barely stand on his own without his cane.

The ceremony ended, and Dell's son Tom muttered, "Let's go, Dad."

"Hold on a minute." Dell returned, and then limped over to where Tavish and Paul stood. He knew that Tavish wouldn't be able to hear him, but he could still converse with Paul.

"Damn good ceremony," Dell said.

"I can't believe the buffoon lasted this long!" Paul retorted.

"It ain't wise to speak ill of the dead, son."

"Don't call me _son_ there, Old Man." Paul replied. "And you remember how Solly was? Batshit! I always swore he woulda killed 'imself before he was fifty with dat rocket of his!"

Dell nodded silently to himself. Behind him, Tom shifted impatiently on his feet. Dell told him to wait in the car, and the man obliged him.

Dell remembered how Jane had been the last time they had met. It had been Ivan's funeral, which had taken place in New Mexico fifteen years ago – he hadn't been able to attend Klaus' funeral in Stuttgart, or Damien's in Australia. With his lack of identity, he had trouble getting onto planes. Yet on that last meeting, Jane was as fit as ever. He had no wife, no sons, and no permanent residence. His life was spent on the battlefield. Unfortunately, it was ended sick, lonely, in a hospice in North Carolina.

"How are the kids?" Dell asked Paul.

"My four girls are all grown up and married off. Hell, even most of my grandkids are moved out by now." Paul flashed a sad smile. "There's just me and Lola. You talk to Spy?"

"Jesus H. Christ," Dell muttered, "I haven't so much as thought of that man in over twenty years. I doubt he's even still alive, smokin' like he did!"

"Sad," Paul shook his head.

"I never much liked the guy," Dell told his younger friend.

"He wasn't so bad – he was always good company behind enemy lines. He'd knock a sentry gun outta my way in a pinch. Poor guy always seemed to be on the run from something, though. Like Jane." Paul sighed. "I wonder if he ever escaped his demons."

Dell looked over at the grave, which was nearly filled in by the young gravekeeper. "I wonder if either of them did." He replied.

"Hey, you wanna grab a beer?" Paul asked.

"I can't today, gotta go home and watch the grandkids so Tom can go out tonight. He's got a girlfriend, and things are going well for them!"

Paul looked over at Dell's pickup truck – a new, American model – and the overweight, middle-aged man sitting behind the wheel. "He still live with you?"

"Ever since Laura left him." Dell replied.

"That was back before Snipes' ceremony! What's it been, ten years?"

"He keeps me company."

"The guy's a bum, if he's still livin' under your roof. Does he still drink?"

Dell switched his cane to his left hand, and extended his right. "It's been good seeing you, Paul. I hope you have a nice flight home."

Paul seemed surprised by the curt farewell, but he held his hand out graciously regardless. "It was nice seeing you, Hardhat. Really."

Dell grunted an agreement, and then patted Tavish on the shoulder. The Scot looked lamely up at him.

"Goodbye, Cyclops." Dell said affectionately, before turning away from both of them and walking – slow as can be – to the car.

Tom had it warmed up when Dell got in, and the younger man had pulled out onto the road before Dell even had his seatbelt buckled.

"Another work buddy?" Tom asked, although Dell had already discussed it with him that morning. "How many of them are left?"

"You only need to worry about two more funerals, Son." Dell retorted, staring at Tavish and Paul through the window as the truck drove off.

"Why do you even bother to go? You never talk to these people when they're alive, why visit when they're dead?"

"If you don't want to drive me around, I'll get Adam to do it." Adam was Dell's sixteen year old grandson, and Tom's oldest son.

"It's not that, Dad, but I have my own life."

"As long as you're staying rent-free under my roof, I'll ask that you don't complain."

Tom grunted, and then turned up the music. The duo didn't exchange another word until they were back at the mansion.

Dell's tenure at RED had left him with a generous sum of wealth, as did the patents of his numerous inventions during his post-RED years. Tom pulled the truck into a lavish garage, complete with nearly every tool known to Man. Dell had spent his retirement in the garage, tinkering and improving upon whatever he could get his hands on. With his care and upkeep, his original pickup truck had lasted almost fifty years. It was only five years previous that Dell had decided he was no longer able to keep it in repair, and let it rust in the back of the property. He had driven the new truck for another two years, before Tom convinced Dell that he was too old to drive, and then the truck went to the son.

Tom helped Dell out of the truck, and the elder Conagher hobbled his way through the house to his easy chair in the living room. He closed his eyes to rest, while Tom disappeared to his half of the house to make ready for his date. He was going to put on his best suit, and find himself some liquid courage from the cupboard before he went to see... Lucinda, that was her name. Tom met her at a bachelor party, if Dell remembered correctly...

_MEDIC!_ Dell heard Paul call, from the dark, murky recesses of his mind. _Doc, come on, man!_ He saw Paul – or Paulie, as they called him then – biting through the pain as he ran past Dell. _Need a Dispenser here!_ Paulie would jab, even as Klaus' healing beam fell upon him. Paulie, the Human Bullet, was slender then, with a ball cap on his head and a headset in his ear. Klaus, standing tall and proud despite the heavy backpack he wore, worked the nozzle of his Medi-gun upon the boy. As Dell reminisced these thoughts, he realized that he could hardly make out the men's' facial features. Funny, he thought to himself, how such a vivid memory can fade so easily into obscurity. If he thought harder, he could _just_ barely recall the _whirr_ of the patrolling sentry gun, or that high-pitched chirp it made when it caught sight of a target. He could no longer recall the comforting feel of the Medi-gun's beam, nor could he recall the familiar feel of his wrench in his hand. The screams, however, they were still as fresh in his mind as they had been fifty years ago, keeping him up nights, so that his dear Abigail – God rest her soul – would have to fetch him some warm milk and a pill from the cupboard behind the bathroom mirror.

Dell must have drifted, because the next thing he remembered was hearing the truck pulling out of the driveway – Tom off to meet his date. Then he could hear loud, heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. "Hey, Gramps!" Adam, the sixteen year old, called as he flew past. He had dark hair like his mother, and thick-framed rectangular glasses. He had a thin frame, also like his mother, and a sincere, if not somewhat impatient, attitude.

"Slow down there, son." Dell croaked with a smile, still groggy.

"Where's Dad?"

"He's out. I'm watching you and Jimmy." Jimmy was eleven.

"Cool. Hey, I'm gonna go out tonight." Adam was already almost out the door as he said it.

"Wait a sec! I want to talk to you!"

Adam made a show of rolling his eyes as he backed away from the open door and went back to his grandfather.

"What?"

"How would you like to go out for lunch with me tomorrow, we can hang out, man to man? Maybe afterward I'll show you how to assemble an engine." Adam had always had a technical mind, but his area of expertise was computer software. He could fix any computer virus in less than an hour, but he couldn't tell an alternator from a spark plug to save his life.

"I'd love to, Gramps, but I'm going out with Jenny and her family tomorrow."

Dell nodded, holding in a sigh. "I understand. Have fun tonight, kid."

"I will, Grandpa, sorry about tomorrow. Maybe Jimmy will-"

"That's fine, go have fun."

With that, Adam disappeared through the door, slamming it behind him, and Dell was left in silence. With nobody to talk to, the only sounds in the big house were the battle cries and screams from bygone years. Dell closed his eyes and surrendered himself to them.


End file.
